


the seeds of absolution

by closingdoors



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Iron Man 1, F/M, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 13:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19928770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closingdoors/pseuds/closingdoors
Summary: "She remembers his words from months ago:I shouldn't be alive unless it was for a reason.She wonders, if now that Obadiah's gone, he ends that sentence atI shouldn't be alive."Or: Pepper teaches Tony forgiveness.





	the seeds of absolution

He's taken because he's Tony Stark.

This, before Obadiah admits to double-dealing, before Obadiah tries to kill her, before Tony almost dies stopping him - is a simple fact.

There have been threats made to his life before. They had a string of environmentalists that'd protested outside the New York offices for three weeks and one in particular swore they'd have Tony's head by the end of it. One man had developed an obsession with Tony and sent letter after letter promising if he couldn't have Tony, nobody could - Pepper had gone through these one by one and liaised with LAPD to determine his location and file a restraining order. 

Nobody exists in this line of work without pissing someone off, and nobody's plastered in the papers as much as he without attracting a hell of a lot of attention. 

So he's taken because he's Tony Stark.

And he survives because of it, too. 

* * *

After Afghanistan, Tony's quiet and loud at the same time. He organises press conferences announcing he's shutting down weapon manufacturing and huddles down in his workshop without any music on. 

Pepper takes it all in her stride. He's always been erratic. She'd learned two weeks into her job that there are no patterns to his moods; Tony Stark's a rubix cube with no matching colours.

One Friday afternoon, she makes him a mug of coffee and a ham sandwich. The previous mug is empty and the toast she'd made him that morning is still sitting on the side, cold and sad. It isn't her job to do this and she isn't his mother, but the man who came back from those three months is leaner than the man who'd left, so she picks up the toast and sets the sandwich down.

"It's five o'clock," she tells him, watching him fiddle with some of JARVIS's wiring. "Do you need anything, Mr Stark?" 

He clears his throat. 'Uh, yeah, actually. I need you to get me a list of those soldiers' names." 

She doesn't ask _what soldiers_ and Tony doesn't look at her. He hardly has since he made his way back. The arc reactor shines blue against the metal in front of him and it's still a shock to her now to see it, even knowing it's what's keeping him alive. She wonders how that feels - to be irrevocably changed by the enemy in order for survival.

"I'll have it on your desk by Monday." 

"That will be all, Miss Potts," he dismisses her, already reaching for the coffee.

* * *

The names of the soldiers is public knowledge. They're already on memorial plaques and CNN had produced an hour-long special with their families one month before Tony had fought his way home. 

Still, she's nothing if not efficient, and covers all her bases. Pepper goes to Rhodey for their names and hopefully their military files too. Rhodey greases some palms and gets some wheels turning and soon enough, she's meeting him for lunch and he's passing her a stack of files all marked _confidential_ over their guinea fowl.

"Why does he need this, anyway?" Rhodey asks, settling his napkin in his lap as the waiter pours their wine.

"I don't know," she tells him, which is a lie, because she has her suspicions. The waiter leaves and she takes a sip of the wine; it bursts with flavour on her tongue. "It's not part of my job to question him." 

Rhodey laughs. "You know, sometimes I think you'd make a great politician. You have a knack for dodging the truth." 

"Thank you."

Rhodey toasts her and they tuck into their meals. She enjoys his company. They'd always gotten along, of course - they're the only two people Tony really has any regular interaction with. She and Rhodey had never been close until Afghanistan, and now it feels like they're old friends. She knows as much as Rhodey may rally against Tony and his decisions sometimes, he loves his friend, almost half as much as she does.

"How's he doing? It's hard to get a proper answer out of him lately. Especially when he won't even leave that house." 

"He came to the ball last night, so I suppose that's a win," she sighs, trying to keep her cheeks from warming. God, she'd almost kissed him. "He's working on something but I have no clue what it is. There's no showing off from him anymore." 

"And you?"

"Me?" 

"How are _you_ doing? Look, I've known... I've known tons of guys who come out the military all twisted up with PTSD and they get no support. Next thing you know they're on the streets or beat their wives half to death. I don't wanna see that happen to him and I sure as hell don't want it to affect you. So if you think either of you need help, you just say the word." 

"I'm fine," she says simply, "I'm not his wife." 

Rhodey shakes his head as the waiter comes to refill their glasses. 

"I'm telling you, you could be President."

* * *

Pepper walks into work on Monday to find, as usual, he isn't in his office. She carries the stack down to the workshop where she finds him in a suit of red and gold, riddled with bullet holes.

"Sir," JARVIS announces as she stares, "part of the suit is caught."

The machines around him have already removed the legs of the suit, but his arms remain upright, whirring and scraping. He looks over at her with a sheepish grin, cuts and grazes framing his lips.

"Pepper, would you mind?" 

She leaves the paperwork on the edge of one of the desks. He shows her where the catch on the elbow is, allowing the panel covering his forearm to release. The machines drag the rest of the damaged metal away and finally he's less iron and more man again. The arc reactor still glows through his t-shirt. 

"So this is what you've been working on?" 

"Uh huh. Neat, right?" 

"I thought you said you were done making weapons. This looks pretty hostile to me," she observes, recognising the weaponised gauntlets the machines tuck away.

"Not a weapon. There's a difference between something that only kills and something that seeks to defend." 

Pepper thinks about the news pieces that've been running on Gulmira; she thinks about the text she'd received that morning from Rhodey asking her to call him. She watches Tony rub at his bruised arms. 

He's reached the paperwork now. She stands still as he opens the first one up: Alexandra 'Alex' Bishop, 30, wife of Naya Bishop, daughter of Nicholas and Charlotte. Her photo is glossy and Tony looks at it briefly before he closes the file and dumps the whole stack in one of the drawers. 

He doesn't thank her, and she doesn't demand manners from him. Instead she gets the first aid kit out and makes sure the little cuts and grazes are clean to avoid infection. Sometimes it's the smallest of wounds that hurt the most.

* * *

After Obadiah, he's taken to hospital, where the doctors are stumped on how to keep an eye on his vitals considering the arc reactor in his chest. Pepper sits by his side, trying to sort out the mess the company's in now that Stane's gone and Tony's no longer been shut out by the board - she's already organised new clauses to be written into his contract to prevent this kind of thing from ever happening again. All it needs is Tony's signature. 

Rhodey enters the room some time after four in the morning. He closes the door quietly.

"How is he?" Rhodey asks, not for the first or second or third time recently.

"Stable. The doctors here don't know a lot about the RT but they believe it's holding steady. He has a bruised lung, so that's why he has this for now," Pepper tells him, motioning to the oxygen mask over his face, "but I think it all just looks worse than it actually is."

Rhodey sits in the chair on Tony's other side. He watches his friend for a long time and Pepper goes back to typing. Her eyes are dry and her head aches from being awake for almost twenty-four hours and staring at a screen for the majority of it. It's easy to ignore it all and focus on the beeping of Tony's heart monitor, pumping out blood and oxygen instead of shrapnel.

"You reckon he's gonna do this kinda thing again?" 

She thinks about the man the world doesn't get to see; the man she witnesses every day. 

"Yes," she answers honestly. 

Rhodey sighs. "The military isn't gonna like that." 

"Tony won't let the military anywhere near the suit. No matter how hard they try, he's not making weapons for them again. Sorry." 

"I know. They'll still try, though," Rhodey says with a shake of his head. He begins to stand. "I'll have to go start delaying them. You alright with him?" 

She looks at Tony's body, small and bruised in the hospital bed, his hair falling into his eyes. She reaches out and pushes it back, rubbing a thumb over his temple, unashamed of her affection under Rhodey's gaze.

"I've got him." 

* * *

Ten days after the press conference, Tony seeks her out.

"Will you come with me?" He frowns and adds: "Please." 

"Of course," she answers. Her bag's already packed.

* * *

Alex Bishop of Missouri is first. 

Her wife moved back to the hometown they'd met following her death. Alex is buried in the small cemetery located behind the town's church. Her gravestone is clean and well-maintained, a small potted cactus sitting in front of it. 

"She was driving." 

Pepper glances at Tony. His eyes are hard and the shape of his jaw is a rough edge. Pepper has seen the pictures of the troops that had been with him, but never had the chance to meet them. So much of hers and Tony's lives have been interwoven since she started working for him that it feels strange to know he has memories that she doesn't.

"She was the first one out the damn door," he continues. He stares at her name, at the date of death which matches Pepper's birthday. "She was the first one to go down, too."

Naya Bishop invites them into her home. There are no photographs of Alex on the walls, but canvases of her smiling, or in the middle of laughing, or extending a hand to the viewer. In the living room, one wall's been turned into a mural. The background is painted to look like grass and in the middle there's Alex in civilian clothing, laying down, eyes closed, asleep. Although the paintings are clearly done by the skilled hand, that's not what has Pepper choking back tears; it's the love that's woven through each one.

"Did you do these?" Pepper asks, accepting the green tea Naya holds out to her. "They're gorgeous." 

"Thanks. Alex and I were actually saving up for me to go to art school. She was gonna take leave and coach the local football team," Naya replies, her eyes misting over when she looks over at the mural. "She'd hate that damn painting. She always said grass was too itchy."

"There was a cactus by her grave." 

"She hated flowers. She said there was no point in a gift that was already dying." 

Tony, standing by the window, makes a small noise. Pepper watches Naya's gaze snap from the mural and over to him. There's no malice in the way she looks at him. No hint of accusation. 

"I spoke to her before they went out to meet you," Naya says. Tony turns his ear to her but doesn't look at her. "She thought you were gonna be a jackass but they hadn't had anything to do lately, so she was looking forward to it. Just so you know."

As they leave, Pepper spots Tony placing a cheque into Naya's hand. 

* * *

Matthew Haddock, 37, ex-husband of Alice Haddock, father of two daughters, son of Brian and Marilyn, comes next.

His parents live in a small ramshackle of a house in Indiana. They're both tall and fit despite their age, taller than both she and Tony, and welcome them in hospitably. Photos of their family - other children, their sprawling mass of grandchildren - line the walls. One photo of Matthew, grinning at the camera while wearing his uniform and decoration, sits atop the mantelpiece. Tony's drawn to it instantly and Brian steps up beside him.

Marilyn smiles at her. "Help me in the kitchen, won't you?" 

Pepper leaves her boss with Matthew's father, following Marilyn in. There's freshly pressed orange juice and hot coffee sitting on the side. Marilyn slips on a pair of oven gloves and retrieves a tray of cinnamon rolls from within, filling the room with sweet sugary flavour. She sets them on the circular table in the middle of the room alongside tea cakes and lemon cakes.

"Come, take a seat," Marilyn says, and Pepper does as she's told. "Juice or coffee?" 

"Juice is fine. Thank you." 

Marilyn sets the glass in front of Pepper, loading up a plate of sweet treats to go along with it, though she serves herself nothing. 

"Don't look so panicked, darling. I'm sure Brian'll be along in a minute with..." Marilyn hesitates. "Well, I don't know who he is to you." 

"He's my boss. I'm his assistant." 

"Just his assistant? Or a friend, too?" 

"Sometimes both," Pepper finds herself admitting. 

"That's good. People need someone to lean on in times like this. I've got my husband, the girls have got their mom. Doesn't stop the hurt but it helps. Let him feel the hurt, alright? It has to happen." 

Pepper has no idea what to say to that. She tries one of the cinnamon rolls. It's delicious.

Brian and Tony join them. Brian eats half of the lemon cakes by himself. Tony doesn't touch a thing, but when they leave Marilyn places a tub filled cinnamon rolls into his palms. He takes it, even though he hates being handed things.

"What did you talk about?" She finds herself asking once they get back in the car. The tub of cinnamon rolls slides around in the backseat as Tony takes the turns too sharply.

"We can organise college funds, right?" Tony asks instead of an answer.

"Of course - "

"Set up two in his daughters' names, alright?"

It's the end of the conversation. The tub topples over into the wells of the seats.

* * *

Ramsay Vicks, 28, orphaned and single, is next. Tony hadn't met him - he'd been in Rhodey's Humvee - but he holds Ramsay's photograph as they stand in front of his grave. Tony's hand finds hers.

Jonathon Turner, 31, husband of Irina Turner and son of Kelly Turner doesn't have a grave. He was cremated; the ashes scattered at the Big Sur cliffs. Tony stands too close to the edge, the wind buffeting him, watching the water. She stands back and thinks of Marilyn's words: _let him feel the hurt._

Nathaniel 'Nathan' Smith, 33, boyfriend of Ashley Harris, son of William and Mary. His family never respond to their requests to meet.

* * *

Charlotte Casey, 29, wife of Charles Casey, daughter of Victor Morozov, is one of the few who'd survived.

Like Tony, she'd found herself next to one of his bombs. Instead of a chest full of shrapnel, she'd had both legs shredded to pieces. Rhodey had dragged her out of the incoming fire and the medics had amputated on her from the waist-down.

"It's not all bad," Charlotte says, long brown hair thrown over her shoulder, smiling at them both. There are freckles on her nose from the Louisiana sun. "We're just waiting on the insurance to come through so we can look into prosthetics. Charles has done tons of research and turns out they're actually pretty advanced. Who knew, right?" 

Pepper glances at Tony, who's staring at Charlotte's wheelchair. She takes the lead.

"You don't have the worry about your insurance. Stark Industries will cover the costs for you."

"I don't expect - " 

"Please," Tony gets out hoarsely. 

Charlotte blinks once. Then again. She glances from Pepper to Tony, who's resting his elbows on his knees, staring her directly in the eyes now. His hair is beginning to grow out and his goatee could do with a bit of maintenance. There's a smattering of grazes on his palms. Not for the first time, Pepper aches to hold him. 

"Well... thank you," Charlotte manages, voice wavering.

* * *

Elliott Waters, 35, father of five, son of Hayley and Michael Waters. Hayley rejects their request. Michael sends Tony a letter she doesn't get a chance to read. He's red-eyed and goes for a walk after.

Mateo Lòpez, 26, husband of Sofia Lopez, father of one: a survivor. He and his wife have relocated to Argentina following the birth of his son, Rafael, one month after Tony's return. They respond to the request with an email detailing they are happy, Mateo is studying to become an engineer, and attach a picture of Rafael.

Nolan Bren, 33, son of David and Pearl Bren - a survivor too, but missing. His file reports symptoms of PTSD. The military had lost track of him and his parents too. Most signs point to homelessness. Some point to suicide.

* * *

"I don't know, Rhodey," Pepper sighs, bluetooth clipped to her ear, "you know, you're welcome to ask him yourself."

"During his little jaunt of the country? C'mon, he'd dismiss me out of hand. You're the only one he listens to nowadays."

Pepper rubs at her temples, taking a seat by the window. It's from floor to ceiling, giving her a glimpse of the nighttime Utah landscape, and the people among it. 

Before she can answer, her hotel room door falls open. It can only be one person. She twists in her seat to find Tony walking in donned in the suit. There's dents in the armour, and with the helmet off she can see a long gash that starts at his right eyebrow and stops mid-way down his cheek. 

"I have to call you back, Rhodey," she gets out, tapping the bluetooth off without waiting for his answer.

Tony steps further into the room, each footstep loud and clunky. She rushes over to close the door and he gives her a bitter smile.

"What, you guys seeing each other something?" 

"Don't be facetious," she replies, guiding him to sit on the bed, staining the sheets with dirt and oil and blood. She lets her hand travel into his thick hair. He closes his eyes. "He's worried about you."

"He shouldn't be." 

" _I'm_ worried about you."

He opens his eyes and meet hers. She remembers his words from months ago: _I shouldn't be alive unless it was for a reason._

She wonders, if now that Obadiah's gone, he ends that sentence at _I shouldn't be alive._

"JARVIS is updating. I can't get this suit off. Can you..." 

Pepper nods. She finds the familiar catch in the elbow, sliding one of the plates away. He guides her to the ones by his wrists, between his fingers, and so on. It's all so intricate that she finds herself acknowledging that, really, the suit is a work of art. As the plates detach, she wonders what Tony thinks of the suit - not the Tony in the papers who grins at the camera and says words like _I am Iron Man._ The real one.

Tony's quiet as she helps him. His breathing is deep and as parts of the plates come away, they reveal deep purple bruises on his arms. There's a wound on his right shoulder that's small but deep. The fabric of his pants have torn away at the knee. None of it is a surprise to her, not really, she knows he's been flying off to foreign countries and fighting terrorists during their trips. It's all over the news. They're full of buzz for Iron Man, the hero who's going to lead them all into world peace, the hero with a body made of metal, the hero who's surely invincible.

The world gets its hero and she gets Tony Stark: bloodied and bruised and beaten. 

Once he's free of the suit, she disinfects the wound on his face. He winces. She dabs it clean. 

"This needs stitches." 

"I know." 

"I'll call a doctor." 

"Don't - " He reaches out and grabs her wrist when she moves away. He pulls her closer until she's stepping up between his legs. It's so hard to put boundaries in place anymore. "Not yet."

Pepper sighs. "Talk to me, Tony." 

"I don't know what to - I'm..." He takes a deep breath. "How was your birthday?" 

Pepper laughs wetly. 

"It was awful."

"I'm sorry." 

"It's not your fault. You know that, don't you?" He doesn't answer so she slips two fingers beneath his chin, forcing her to look up at her. "Tony. None of it is your fault. You can give these people your money, help the families, whatever you want. But you need to see that it happened because of Obadiah. Not you." 

Tony pushes her hand away from his chin but keeps hold of it, looking over to the window. She watches the way the words bounce off of him. 

"I thought about you while I was out there."

"You did?" She can't keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Yeah."

He doesn't offer any more explanation than that but he does look back up at her, wide-eyed and small. She thinks about him in that cave with a chest full of his own weapons, a head filled with dead soldiers. And her.

Pepper leans down and kisses him. Tony lays down on the mattress and brings her with him, crushing her to his chest, her legs tangled with his. The RT digs into her sternum. Though he holds her fiercely, the way he kisses her is gentle. It's sweet, and careful, like he's afraid to push too far. Pepper sighs into the kiss, open-mouthed, her thumb against his jaw.

She pulls away eventually. He's smiling.

"That was nice," he murmurs.

"Yes, it was," she agrees softly, and moves her thumb to his cheek. "I'm gonna call a doctor now, okay?" 

"Okay," he says, but doesn't let go of her. 

"Will you agree to a therapist, too?" 

"No."

She sighs. "I thought not." 

The doctor diagnoses him with a mild concussion and sutures the wound closed. The one on his shoulder only requires butterfly stitches. He hands Pepper a leaflet about concussion while listing symptoms for her to look out for. By the time the doctor's out the door, Tony's fast asleep in the middle of her bed. 

Pepper changes into her pyjamas and joins him. Some time in the night, he whispers her name.

* * *

James 'Jimmy' Woods, 20, son of Elizabeth Feathers, brother of Thomas, Gemma, and Rory.

Elizabeth's eyes are already red and puffy when she answers the door. There's no tray of cakes or freshly brewed coffee to greet them. Pepper glances at Tony uneasily, but he follows Elizabeth straight into the living room, not looking back.

The room has clearly been turned into a shrine for her late son. The picture frames are filled with pictures of Jimmy as a boy, the youngest of his siblings. She stops by one that shows him, presumably a high-schooler, showing off his braces to the camera. In all of the pictures, he is a boy. Not a man.

They sit opposite Elizabeth, the tick of the clock filling the room. Tony's still, too still, and Pepper nervously smooths out the nonexistent wrinkles of her skirt.

"They mailed me this after - after the funeral," Elizabeth says, gulping for air between her sentences. She sets a digital camera on the table. "I had some of the pictures developed and I... please, take it. I don't want it."

The light obscures the content of the photo when she holds it out at first. Pepper reaches for it, but Tony surprises her, getting there first. She glances at him, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, and then down at the photo. There's Tony, the old him, relaxed, tie slightly askew, alcohol in hand. And then there's Jimmy, bright-faced and young, holding up a peace sign. 

Tony slips the photo into his jacket pocket. Tears are streaming from Elizabeth's eyes. She doesn't bother wiping them away. 

"He didn't even want to go out there. He just wanted a way to pay for college," Elizabeth cries, near hysterics now. "He was a _boy_ and he died because of you." 

Pepper rests a hand on the small of Tony's back. He shifts away from her, holding his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out.

"Sorry doesn't bring my son back."

"I know. _I know._ It should've been me." 

It hangs heavy in the air. Pepper has nothing to offer the woman - there's no tuition to pay, no prosthetics to look into. Elizabeth's son is already gone. Money can't fill that void.

"I'm sorry," Tony repeats, voice thick, and Pepper spots a tear carving a line from his jaw down his neck. "It should've been me." 

* * *

Tony lets her drive.

She doesn't take them back to the hotel. She pulls up at a convenience store and grabs a few litres of water, some snacks, and a blanket. Tony's still mute when she climbs back in and begins driving them through the Mojave Desert.

The air is thick with heat. Even in a thin blouse and pencil skirt, her skin is dewy with a thin line of sweat, making her baby hairs stick to the back of her neck. Thankfully, the AC in Tony's Audi is there to cool them down, blasting them with a steady stream of cold air during the journey. Yet it's quiet; she can't hear it over her playlist. 

After a couple hours' drive, she pulls over. Tony's staring out of the window and she wonders if it's anything like the desert he'd been stolen from. This one's comprised of oranges and reds; there's still thick greenery for snakes and tortoises to live in. 

"Come on," she murmurs, switching the ignition off. "It's getting cooler." 

Pepper steps out, pleased to find she's right. It's late afternoon now, the sun is low in the sky, taking the intense heat with it. She grabs the snacks and one of the litre bottles, hoists the blanket under one arm, and walks out into the desert. She doesn't look back but she can hear Tony's footsteps in the sand following after her. He doesn't question where they go; blindly following her.

Eventually, she finds them an overhang. She scouts the area to make sure no creepy crawlies lurking before she lays the blanket down and places the water and food on top of it. She sits cross-legged and looks at him expectantly.

Tony doesn't join her at first. He walks to the edge, looking over the desert. The sunlight drops down to meet him, colouring him the same colours as his suit.

He settles beside her, pulls the photo out of his jacket, and then he punches the ground.

"Damn it," he says, doing it again, and the sand leaps into the air and all over his sleeve, painting him in rust. "Damn it." 

Pepper waits. She takes the photo from his hand, trying to connect the man in the photo to the man with her now. She had cared a great deal about him before Afghanistan, but he had also frustrated her to no end. With the man sitting next to her - well, she just cares about him. There's no _but._

"We took that picture right as the attack started. I didn't even think - I remember taking it. I know I said some stupid joke but I don't remember what it was," Tony croaks. "I can remember the violence but not that god damn joke." 

She leans forward to slip the sunglasses from his face. He's bloodshot and there's tears streaming down his cheeks. She lists forward, resting her forehead against his.

"It's okay," she whispers, "it's okay." 

"He was a kid."

"I know."

"And I was a stupid, selfish - " 

"You were a civilian. Protecting you was his job," she interrupts, pulling away to meet his eyes. "None of them signed up to the military to protect you, Tony. They signed up to protect the whole country and they knew the risks. You didn't bring war to them. You were trying to help them win." 

"They had family. People to miss them." 

"You have that, too." 

"Do I?" Tony beseeches with a bitter laugh. "Because I'm struggling to believe that."

"Rhodey searched for you for _months._ You have no idea how much he'd blamed himself. How many times he'd call me just to say _I should've got in the Humvee with him._ That man is your best friend and losing you almost ruined him. And that's - that's before I even talk about me." 

"You," Tony repeats, like a question.

"Yes," she sighs, "me."

This time, Tony leans forward to kiss her. The sun beats down on them, it's really too hot to make this comfortable, but she drapes her arms around his neck anyway, pulling him closer. 

"You can't just kiss me to avoid talking about Afghanistan," she tells him when they part.

"I know," he says, and kisses her anyway.

The kiss turns heated, as these things do, and she lets him lay her down on the blanket. This isn't why she'd brought them out here, but she doesn't stop him when he starts kissing his way down her neck, his fingers toying with the buttons of her blouse. She covers his hands with hers after he undresses her, leading him, because for a moment he stills, something reverent in his gaze.

He lets her guide him after that, and she falls apart under him and the afternoon sun, the photo of the man he used to be trapped somewhere beneath her thigh.

Afterwards, with him pressed up against her, their skin sticking, he says, "if I'd been anyone else, those men and women wouldn't have died."

"Tony..."

"And if I'd been anyone else, I would've been killed too, not used as a pawn." 

This, at least, is true. She can't argue with his logic. She threads one hand through his hair and presses the other against his healing wound. He's beautiful like this; hers.

"It would've killed me if you hadn't made it back."

Tony takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm. "Yeah?"

It's true and it isn't. She's not a damsel in distress. She never has been. But she loves him in her own way, and her life is so wrapped up in his she doesn't know how to make sense of it when he isn't here.

"Yeah," she admits quietly, and she watches the word wash like balm over his skin.

* * *

As the stars climb up into the sky, the temperature drops and the breeze picks up. They pull their clothes back on but remain on the blanket, watching the night sky arrange itself.

"I want to host an event on the anniversary. In memory of them all. Maybe raise some money for military charities," he announces, his arm pillowing her head, his arc reactor shining strong. "It might clash with your birthday plans." 

Pepper smudges a kiss against the edge of his jaw and then lets her lips rest at his throat. His pulse thrums against her, vibrant and alive. 

"It sounds perfect." 

* * *

Tony drives them back to the hotel once it's too cold to stay in the desert anymore. There's something lighter about him, but she can't put a finger on what it is. And then she nods off, watching the desert pass them by, absolutely exhausted by the emotional day.

She wakes to find Tony carrying her. She groans.

"Put me down," she slurs.

"I am," he says, and he does.

It's her hotel room, not his. He dusts a kiss against her forehead and turns to leave. She catches him by his wrist and shakes her head. Tony smiles, and for the first time in a long time it doesn't look like it hurts, and he climbs under the sheets with her.

* * *

That afternoon, during the plane ride home, he sits with an Iron Man gauntlet in his lap, peering at the wiring and scribbling notes in a notepad. She pretends to be catching up with the day's emails on her phone, but mostly she's just watching him. 

"You're staring," he says. 

"I am," she replies.

He laughs under his breath and goes back to the gauntlet in his lap. It's charred and burnt and a part of her hurts, knowing that that happened while he was wearing it, that people turn weapons on him on an almost-daily basis now. He flies headfirst into danger with no guarantee that he'll make it back. Maybe, sometimes, hoping he won't make it back. 

What will she have then? Suits of armour in place of him? There's a part of her that realises she might end up just like the widows they've met with these past few weeks. Putting on a brave face, proud of what their partner fought and died for, but aching deeply with every breath.

"Do we need to talk about this thing we're doing?" He asks suddenly, looking up at her.

"What is it we're doing?" 

"I'd marry you if I was given the chance." 

She chokes. "Tony - "

"I mean it," he swears, pushing the suit aside and standing. "Pepper - " 

"Don't." She holds up a hand. Her head is spinning. "I think we just need to - "

"Take it slow?"

"Slower than a proposal."

He considers this and then he nods, leaning down to kiss her briefly. He settles back in his seat, pen in one hand, gauntlet in the other.

"Alright," he says, "I can do that." 

"Can you do something else for me, too?" 

"Anything."

"Enjoy your life," she requests. "That's all. Just... enjoy that you're here. Don't feel guilty for it." 

He meets her eyes, the amber sunlight washing over his eyes through the window, and nods.

"Alright. I'll try." 

* * *

A package arrives for her the morning after she gets home. She answers the door of her apartment bleary-eyed and jet-lagged, stumbling back into her bedroom with it. She doesn't remember ordering anything.

On the gift tag it reads _Happy Belated Birthday - TS._

Pepper takes a deep breath and opens it.

There's a framed photo inside. She lifts it out of the box. The background of the top half is a sky-blue and the bottom is a deep, inky indigo. Both halves have constellations on them, though they differ to one another, and the set of co-ordinates beneath each are different too. 

Pepper frowns and catches sight of another note laying at the bottom of the box. She opens it, recognising his handwriting again. 

_One for the desert I was lost in,_ it reads, _and another for the one I was found._

Pepper takes a shaky breath and googles the second set of co-ordinates.

Sure enough they lead to the Mojave Desert.

She takes down the Jackson Pollock hanging above her bed and replaces it with the frame. She stares up at it, teary-eyed, and presses her speed dial for Tony.

He picks up immediately. "Did you get it?"

"I love you," she confesses, sunburn on her cheeks, making it hurt when she smiles. She smiles anyway. "I love you, Tony." 

"I love you, too," he replies, bright and unashamed. "What a thing to live for."


End file.
